


offering you nothing but a middle finger, one mr. tommyinnit

by miidniight



Series: signed by one mr. innit and one mr. soot [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Letters, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot is a Good Big Brother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28760610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miidniight/pseuds/miidniight
Summary: Four letters.Four hundred and fifty days.---Or the sequel toformally, and hoping you all burn in hell, wilbur sootfrom Tommy's point of view.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: signed by one mr. innit and one mr. soot [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2113617
Comments: 41
Kudos: 412





	1. Tubbo.

**Author's Note:**

> hiya! like it says in the summary, this is a sequel to [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28705392) fic. enjoy!

~~Big T~~

~~To my best fr~~

Tubbo.

I don’t know when this will reach you, or if it’ll even reach you at all. I hope it does because I have a lot to say. I know I’m not the best at being serious or knowing when to stop, but for once in my life I’m going to be me.

Not Big Man, or Tommyinnit, just plain old Tommy, Thomas, Toms. 

I really fucking miss you. And I don’t mean physically (but I do, of course I do), I just mean you. It feels like the last time we were ever just Tommy and Tubbo and Tubbo and Tommy was before we came to this godforsaken server. I miss being able to just hang out without the threat of war hanging over our fucking heads or the responsbilities of being adults on our shoulders. 

Because we’re not. Adults, I mean. I may make my claims otherwise, but I’m just a fucking kid. You’re just a fucking kid. None of this should have ever fucking happened. The disc wars, the L’Manburg wars, the pet wars with Sapnap… it never should have happened. I wish it hadn’t.

But it did, and the majority of it is my fault.

So I’m sorry.

I am _so_ fucking sorry.

I’m sorry for burning down George’s stupid fucking cottagecore house, I’m sorry for putting everyone in danger, I’m sorry for huting you, I’m sorry for breaking your trust, I’m sorry for endangering Ranboo during his first fucking days—I’m sorry for everything. But mostly, I’m sorry for putting so much effort and energy into looking for the discs.

Tubbo, you are worth so much more than the discs ever were.

And I want them. I still do and I probably always will. Save you and Wilbur, they mean more than anything to me in this shitty ass hellhole. They remind me of better times, when we were me and you and the word “dream” meant nothing more than a place to escape the real world as we fell asleep. They sound like hope and they sound like a future that could be. A future where there’s peace and I wake up smelling flowers instead of smoke. A future where neither of us wake up screaming from the fucking dickhead monsters that haunt as at night.

But that future doesn’t mean shit if you’re not in it Tubbo. Why would I want peace without some bees on the side?

I just want to be us again. The dynamic duo, the iconic idiots, the two T’s roaming the world with mischief on their mind and chaos in their smiles. I want to be able to wake up knowing that if no one got me, I know you got me. And I’m pretty sure I fucking ruined that.

I don’t know if you want me, but I want you forever and ever. You’re irreplaceable. What good is a Tommy without his Tubbo? That’s like a Wilbur without his beanie, a Ran without his Boo, or Eret without their sunglasses.

So I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I was a burden. I’m sorry that I was a problem. I’m sorry that I was so annoying. I’m sorry that I was so loud.

Fuck, I’ll even apologize for being me. I know I’m not what anyone wants, my time in exile proved that to me. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be different.

I don’t know how long me and Wilbur will be gone, but hopefully it’ll be long enough that I can learn to be better. If not for my sake, for yours.

Again I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Loving you forever (even if you don’t love me), 

Tommy


	2. Dear Phil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took a bit, enjoy :)

Dear Phil,

How does it feel now that you’ve lost two of your sons?

How does it feel knowing that you won’t see me or Wil rounding a corner with smiles on our faces? How does it feel knowing that you won’t get to hear Wil play on his guitar? How does it feel knowing that you fucking left me on an island with that green ass mask motherfucker and I would have died alone?

How does it feel knowing you were a _shit_ fucking father?

I’m tired of being nice. I’m tired of making excuses and telling myself that you’ll get better, that you’ll love me more, because you won’t. I’m not sure you ever even loved me in the first place. I mean, what kind of dad gets not one, not two, not three, but _ten fucking letters_ from his children asking for help through _two fucking wars_ and thinks “oh la dee dee, they’ll be fine”. Fuck you.

Fuck you.

All I ever wanted was a dad. Someone who would bandage up my scrapes and hold me after nightmares and run a hand through my hair and tell me that everything would be okay. But I got Wil. Wilbur was the one to wipe my tears when I cried, Wilbur was the one to check under my bed for monsters, and Wilbur was the one who would tell me that I was worth the world.

And where were you?

Off conquering the world with the Technoblade, The Blood God, the prodigy, the perfect child that you never even gave Wilbur or I the chance to be.

I hope you feel bad. I hope you cry at night because sometimes the guilt feels like it’s too much. Maybe then you’ll feel a fucking ounce of the way it felt when I wished Wilbur was my dad instead of you.

I needed you, past tense, because I don’t anymore.

I’m getting better every single fucking day.

Y’know today I was able to put on armor without having a panic attack. Bet you don’t even understand how fucking big that is, because why would you? It’s not like you have any idea what happened to me on that godforsaken island.

Guess who was there to say he was proud of me and ruffle my hair and make me cake (because cake is my fucking favorite, not the cookies that we both know you only ever made for Techno)? Wilbur fucking Soot.

Sometimes I wonder if I hate you, but then I end up hating myself. I ask myself what I did wrong when it’s late and I can’t sleep. I run through different scenarios and think about what I could have changed, what I could have done differently to get you to notice me more, talk to me more, _know_ me more.

If I had been more like Techno, would that have done it? If I knew how to fight and to kill like him would you have been home for all the birthdays you missed?

But I’m done.

My entire life I’ve wanted and I’ve wanted, but I’m fucking done. I deserve better than some fucking shit ass dad with chicken wings and fucking sandals (who the fuck wears sandals while they’re fighting, that’s so gross). So fuck you old man. You cast your lot with the pigs now fucking sleep in your bed or however the saying goes.

Hoping that you lose your stupid fucking hat,

Tommy Big T Careful Danger Innit


	3. Hello, Techno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy :)

~~Dear bitch~~

~~Mr. Blade, I’m~~

~~Techie~~

Hello, Techno. I honestly wasn’t sure about writing a letter to you considering our ‘ _tumultuous_ ’ (Wilbur taught me that word and said it would make me sound smart, but I think he’s a bitch because I sound smart anyway) past, but then I remembered I wasn’t a pussy and did.

Sometimes I look over my shoulder expecting to see you or your ridiculous cape, but it’s just Wilbur in his beanie and that old beat up jacket Phil always wanted him to get rid of. It’s weird. I still think you’ll be there after all this time (three hundred and sixty-seven days, to be exact), my brain fucks with me like that.

Sometimes I want you there.

But then I crawl into bed and the dreams that still wake me remind me why you aren’t.

But because I am the biggest, strongest man ever and because you have no idea where the hell I am, I figured I would reach out to you first. I mean between the whole hating me thing and being the least sociable person to ever fucking exist, I figured you weren’t going to do it.

So Technoblade, Techno, Pig Ass Motherfucker, I’m sorry.

I am genuinely and wholeheartedly sorry. Not for trying to stop you from blowing up L’Manburg, never for that, but for turning away you when you were willing to protect my back and making you feel like I didn’t care.

I know that because of my awesomeness and just generally being better than everyone else that I can make it seem like I don’t give two shits about anyone (and I don’t for the most part), but that has never applied to you, Techno. You’re my brother. You’re a pretty shit one sometimes, but I think that’s just because you’re older and try to assert your dominance when we all know I’m the alpha male.

You made it clear from the beginning that you wanted to destroy L’Manburg, but I also made it pretty clear that I wanted anything but that. You saw it as a corrupt government and I saw it as my home. That’s why, I think, you aren’t here. With Wil and I. He doesn’t trust you not to hurt me again, even though I can take care of myself.

I don’t know if you care, but I’m getting better. I killed a creeper the other day (like the big fucking man I am) and the smell of TNT didn’t bother me ~~as much~~. I even gathered up the gunpowder by myself. Wil was proud of me, even made me that fucking cake I like.

It snowed the other day and I thought of you. Do you still live in the tundra? Or has the SMP fallen to pieces since I’ve left and you had to relocate again? I wouldn’t be surprised if nothing held up without my presence. After all, it is _my_ SMP.

I hope the dogs, the ones that survived Sapnap at least, are doing well. I hope the turtles are still living their best turtle life. I hope that you don’t hate me anymore. I hope Dream is still locked up in the prison like the little bitch he is.

Tell Phil hi for me and that I’m sorry I was so mean in my letter. I don’t regret saying the shit I did, I meant it, but I feel a little bad for being so mean about it.

Forever being the better brother,

Tommy Careful Danger Kraken Innit


End file.
